I should be packing. Mr. Moon is in town doing a half-day's work (and we shall see what that ends up meaning) and I should be putting things in a suitcase but no, here I sit, but I'm thinking about it.
It's been quite a morning already. Luna, the Oldest Living Cat, managed to kill a squirrel. She's laying out there now, guarding it/ regarding it, probably amazed that she did it, as am I. There's another squirrel in a tree above her, pissed as hell and probably grieving.
Whole lotta nature.
Jessie and Vergil are heading out of town today too, as I mentioned earlier this week. They're taking our Gus up to North Carolina for a wedding party and to introduce the newest royalty to the family there. They will be gone for ten days and so of course, when they get back, Gus will be a completely different baby.
I dreamed this morning that I was pregnant. I told a woman that here I was, sixty-one years old and about to give birth. She was Catholic and told me that I'd done the right thing and praise GOD! I told her I wasn't religious at all. I just like babies.
Boy. Am I glad I'm not pregnant.
Hope I don't get pregnant this weekend. Now THAT would be a hell of a thirty-one year anniversary celebration result!
Pretty sure I won't. Then again, Luna did catch that squirrel and I would have bet the ranch that couldn't happen either.
Okay. I'll shut up now.
I'll be checking in from historic Apalachicola, Florida. When I'm not busy eating, drinking, sleeping or possibly getting pregnant.